


Giving Like Taking

by AdelineAround



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Blood Kink, Bottom Dionysus, Bottom Theseus, Choking, Coming Untouched, Light Bondage, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot, Post-Coital Kissing, Propositions, Rimming, Spanking, Top Ares, Top Theseus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:54:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28877520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelineAround/pseuds/AdelineAround
Summary: Dionysus and Ares demonstrate to Theseus that summoning gods’ aids does not come for free. Theseus, being the proud king that he is, is more than willing to pay the price.
Relationships: Ares/Dionysus (Hades Video Game), Ares/Dionysus/Theseus (Hades Video Game), Ares/Theseus (Hades Video Game), Dionysus/Theseus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 94





	Giving Like Taking

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, this was a dare from Kora. The premise was to have Dionysus, Ares and Theseus enjoy each other, since they’re all voiced by the same actor.  
> The WIP I had for this fic was then promptly titled _Two Gods and A King (jerk it in a circle to summon Cyrus Nemati)_.  
> [UPDATE] My good friend WikiDial made art for this fanfic! Thank you so much! [ CHECK IT OUT HERE!](https://twitter.com/DialWiki/status/1357418442069008393?s=20)

Ares gets a call to be summoned during an evening like any other. It has been uneventful these past months, to say the least, with no major wars to tend to, no feuds to look after. It is a time of stagnancy, and the god figures that it would not take up too much of his energy to listen to this entreaty.

Strange, Ares finds that he is being beckoned to Athens of all places. He does not know of any reason why he should be called down from Olympus to visit Greece. But perhaps there is a promise of an unknown war plan, an act of wrath maybe?

He descends from the heavens and utilizes Selene’s pale moonlight to guide him through the deep sky, following the call’s pull to a lavish bed chamber. Immortal eyes adjusting to the dim light, he stands in front of none other than Theseus, slayer of the Minotaur.

He is about to ask what his attendance is required for when someone speaks first.

“Now, I am even more confused than I oughta be, man. What’s Ares doing here, too?” Ares turns to his right. He knows the voice. He knows it a little too intimately.

Dionysus meets Ares’ scrutinizing gaze and beams at him, like he usually does. He looks away, mood souring. If both of them are here, then what is it that Theseus requires of them? Ares does not see that there is any danger or fighting in the near vicinity.

“King Theseus,” he says simply. “You have summoned us, both Dionysus and myself, but for what I do not know. I would appreciate it if you would care to explain.”

The king is speechless for a moment, and Ares takes the moment of silence to sweep over Theseus’ stance. He certainly does not look like he is aimed for attack. On the contrary, a thin bed sheet is thrown over one of his shoulders, covering only his front as he stands. There is a mirror behind Ares, and he raises a brow when he discerns that the mortal must have been staring at his reflection before calling upon the gods. Just what is going on here?

“It came to me in a dream..! A walking dream, that is. That is why I am here, upright before you. I did not believe it would, but it worked, for you together have arrived by my account!” Theseus exclaims, but Ares figures he has had enough. There is no promise of bloodshed here, not in Athens, but off in the far East, he can feel a tug of strife in its beginning stages. 

“What worked?” Dionysus ponders, but Ares cuts him off.

He speaks with authority before Theseus can continue, “There are other matters that need my attention. If what this might be is all play, then I shall be going—”

Dionysus is quick to contest, “Wait a moment, will you, Ares? I think we should hear out the rest of what _King Theseus_ has to say before we head back up to Olympus.” He adds for good measure, “Well, I will head back to my vineyards while you tend to your… the other matters mortals need you for.”

Ares resists the urge to mill his back molars together at Dionysus’ remark, but fine. He decides he can make an exception to listen before leaving.

“I suppose,” he finally says.

So Dionysus asks the king, “Was Ares and I called upon for any particular cause, my good man?” 

Theseus makes an attempt to stand tall, like he always does, but he is tiny compared to the gods of war and wine. “Yes and no, lords,” he answers with much confidence. “ As I prayed and called out your mighty names, your presences manifested before me. If there came a day where I was in need of you both, I now know that I have your allegiances.”

It takes a moment for Ares to process what Theseus is claiming. “Is… is that all then?”

He feels like laughing scornfully. Why did he think Theseus would give him more of an eloquent answer than this? Despite all his mighty accomplishments, the kin of Poseidon is more or less asinine in his ways of thinking. Even Dionysus looks upon him like his time is being wasted. When would there ever be an instance where he and Dionysus would be needed? Surely, not in any battle that comes across Ares’ mind. Besides, he can only tolerate the god of wine for so long before he is itching with irritation.

“I suppose so,” Theseus is a little quieter, like he is unsure what to say next. Something broods behind those cerulean eyes, but Ares is not entirely sure what. Then, he is back to bellowing once more, “But I will prove to you that a moment where I require your assistance is soon to come!”

By the gods, the few that get along with him, Ares thinks, save him from the next interval in which Theseus needs his attention.

“I see,” Ares attempts to keep his tone neutral. “Then, good. I shall anticipate your next call.”

“Hold on, hold on, man,” Dionysus grabs hold of Ares’ arm, wrapping his fingers around a structured bicep. “You don’t think we should let him off so easily, now should we? After all, I know just how _busy_ you must be with your schedule and all that.”

Dionysus’ words irk Ares, digging into the jarring fact that he has nothing more to do except wait for the next battle between clans to brew after leaving Theseus’ bed chamber. Even the Far East seems to have calmed now; a brief flare up that is gone within a blink of an eye. If he stays, there might be something more he may entertain himself with. If he leaves, Ares will have to face the inevitability of standing around aimlessly.

“What are you getting at, Dionysus?” He does not shake off the god’s hand, but does not react to his touch, either.

Dionysus face morphs into a grin that can Ares has only seen a few times since they were born; Dionysus means trouble. A sliver of anxiety niggles in the back of Ares’ conscience.

“King Theseus,” he addresses Theseus with so much grandeur that Ares wants nothing more than to up and leave, but Dionysus keeps him rooted in place. “You gotta know that we’re gods, right? That we don’t just show up for free, eh?”

From what Ares can see, Theseus shifts his weight from one foot to the other under the bed sheet he has adorned himself with. “Why, yes.” He says matter-of-factly, “Whatever it is you wish me to offer you, you shall have it. I can make it happen. I am king, after all.”

Dionysus’ smile grows even wider. Impending doom strikes up in Ares’ gut. “Whatever I wish?” He turns the words over in his mouth, as if contemplating. Ares knows him far too well to know that the god of wine is just toying with Theseus now. “Whatever I wish,” He plays with the words like he is rolling them like marbles. “And if it is you that I- we,” He glances at Ares, “Wish as my offering? Not sacrificial, of course. Just a little give-and-take, so to speak. What would you say to that, king?”

Ares observes a pyretic flush creep over Theseus’ bronzed face as he absorbs Dionysus’ request. Even in the muted light shining from the balcony window, he can see Theseus grow warm down to his neck. Interesting. He wonders what it would be like if Theseus could blush all the way down to his chest.

“My lords,” he sounds shell-shocked, as he should be. “Are you, are you propositioning me?”

Dionysus is practically purring like a leopard when he says, “And if I am? What would you do if I did?”

Ares purses his lips as the atmosphere around them becomes increasingly stifling. This must be Dionysus’ doing, influencing both he and Theseus with his godborn power. He can feel himself slipping, just a bit, into a fog that makes him think this might very well be not so bad of an idea.

“Then I, Theseus, king of Athens and slayer of the Bull of Minos, shall humbly present myself to you and Lord Ares in however way you best see fit.” Theseus speaks like a true ruler, to which Ares knows he should not be surprised, but finds himself to be anyway.

Dionysus releases Ares from his grip so he can put his attention on Theseus. He gives Ares a little smirk before drawing close to the king. He is so near, in fact, that Theseus musters up his courage to look Dionysus directly in the eye. The god of wine tugs on the cloth that is draped around Theseus, letting it flutter to the ground in such a way that Aphrodite herself would be jealous. In the back of his mind, he hopes she is not.

“We won’t be needing this, right Ares kin?” Dionysus gestures at the bed sheet, strewn across the floor. “We much rather have our offerings unwrapped, don’t we?”

Ares does not reply, instead rolling his gaze over Theseus’, shall he say, immaculate body. The man has a beautifully structured shape, carved from the numerous hours of battle and martial practice. His skin gleams like armor even, like someone has oiled him beforehand. Perhaps he had his servants prepare a bath for him, one of which held various herbal elixirs to keep his body supple, strong, one of a warrior. Ares cannot deny that he prefers his men like this, kissed by the warm touch of the sun, hair like gold when he can find them, eyes as clear as the sky with a deadly glint of determination in their pupils. His armor hides the fact that he is very much affected by the sight of Theseus’ bare body.

Dionysus must have known, because he chortles at him, leaning in to steal Theseus’ lips. He kisses the king fervently, messily like Ares expects the god of wine to do. Theseus flinches at first, only surprised, then conforms to Dionysus’ touch, hands flying for something to hold onto. They find Dionysus’ biceps, fingers digging into the soft animal skin that the god loves to showcase like a trophy on his person. Ares sees a flash of silken tongues dart out, tracing Theseus’ lower lip before he invites Dionysus into his mouth. Theseus moans, the sound muffled.

What a sight. What a _sight_. Ares is too tempted to keep his distance. He wants a piece of the king too, any way he can get him. Dionysus ends his kiss with Theseus to blow a violet fog over both Ares’ and the man’s faces, laughing when they sputter and cough. If his vision was tunneled before, Ares’ mind is completely clouded now, no thanks to Dionysus’ doing. He presses flush against Theseus’ bare form, chest plate hard against the king’s back.

He and Dionysus cage Theseus with their presence, and Ares cannot help but bring his teeth along the man’s enticing nape. He nips and sucks at Theseus’ neck, relishing in the pained grunts that Theseus makes in response to his ministrations. He feels Dionysus reach for his hands then, shepherding them to wrap around Theseus’ waist.

Ares tries not to groan in content when Theseus’ flesh fits perfectly in his palms, muscles firm under them. He squeezes, hard enough to bruise, soaking up the pain he inflicts upon the king. He indulges, biting at the side of Theseus’ neck until he swears he can feel the mortal beat of the man’s heart.

“Gods!” Theseus yelps in anguish. The brackish scent of fresh tears burst into the air as they rim his eyelids. It smells raw, completely and utterly delicious to Ares’ ego.

Ares almost does not register when Dionysus is speaking, but speak he does, “ _Oho_ , what do we have here, my king?”

Ares stops ravishing Theseus’ nape to see Dionysus hone in on the man’s lower half. Theseus bucks his hips involuntarily when the god of wine teases him, tracing the hard length throbbing between his shapely thighs. Ares involuntarily grinds his own confined cock against Theseus’, sighing in slight relief.

“Looks like you’re not the only one who’s as hard as nails, am I right, Ares, or am I right?” Dionysus’ dark lashes flitter provocatively at the war god, prompting him to play along, telling him to give in to every one of his desires.

Ares does not stop his opinion from spewing forth, “He may be hard as nails, but nowhere as long as I.”

Dionysus hums in satisfaction, as if he is recounting the last time he had a go at Ares’ sex. In reality, they have only come together a few times, out of madness and desperation when there was truly no one else they wanted, or trusted, to relieve their appetites.

Still, it is enough to rile the man in their arms up, for he says defiantly, “You are aware that I am still present, correct? Maybe it would be courteous of you to talk with me, instead of talking about me like I am not in the room. And it is unfair for you to compare me to you, lord Ares. You are a god, whereas I am human.”

Dionysus tips his head back in a chuckle, clearly amused. “Oh, would you hear the mouth on this one, Ares.”

Ares forgets to stifle a growl, displeased with being told what and what not to do by a mere mortal. He will not oblige; like Theseus has said: _Ares_ is the god here. An image of slicing into Theseus flashes before his mind’s eye, hinting at how visceral it would feel to have the king’s blood wash over him, wrath and rage periling like he is on the battlefield. But he should not, a rational part of his being reprimands him. Theseus offered himself up, but not as a sacrifice. There would be no telling how well, or how poorly, he would recover if Ares had his way with him and succumbed to every bit of his imagination.

As if the god of wine can read his mind, Dionysus steps back and nudges both Theseus and Ares to the massive pallet fit only for a king. He has Theseus sit on the bed next to him while Ares is directed across from them. Ares raises an eyebrow, but does not object, wondering what Dionysus has in store.

“Just relax,” Dionysus murmurs softly, more of that festive fog filling both Ares’ and Theseus’ lungs. “That’s good, yeah?”

Then he is draping himself over Ares, devouring his mouth like he is starving. Ares responds immediately, the shards of lust lit in his veins. Dionysus reaches for his armor, expertly undoing his pteruges. His two swords are put to the side. Ares’ bronze shell comes off him piece by piece. He lifts his hips so Dionysus can rid him of his plateskirt, discarding it next to Theseus’ makeshift chiton on the floor. He licks vigorously at his teeth more often than not as they wrestle for dominance, like he is enticing him to give way to his inclination. It is only when he glides over Ares’ incisors a third time that Ares gives in and bites down.

Sweet ichor floods his senses, and all Ares can do is groan in pleasure. It is so good. He releases Dionysus’ tongue, lapping at the ichor until Dionysus withdraws, already healing at a rate only gods are capable of. Ares craves more, wants to do more; claw into Dionysus until he bleeds him dry. His cognitive thinking is so muffled that he feels like a beast in rut.

“Dear gods on Olympus,” Theseus stares at them with blue eyes as big as an owl’s. He looks just as disheveled as Ares feels, but he is fixed on Ares’ hard cock. “May I?”

“What do you say, Ares?” Dionysus asks, but he already knows how this will play out. “You wanna let the king feast on you a little?”

“Ah,” utters Ares, but he is more than willing to get Theseus’ hungry mouth around him. “Then, I don’t see why not,” he admits truthfully, and spreads his legs.

When Dionysus withdraws, Theseus takes his place, wetting his reddened, swollen lips in anticipation. He gets on his forearms, taking Ares in a loose hold, and strokes him slowly like he is testing the waters. Ares brings his head forward. His cock begins to leak at the tip when Theseus pulls back his foreskin, pulsing in Theseus’ hand. Then, there, the king does not give him more than an inhale to warn him for what is coming next.

Theseus engulfs Ares in a searing warmth that knocks him off guard. His fingers race to intertwine themselves in Theseus’ blond locks as the king takes him deeper in his mouth, swirling his tongue over the underside of his cock. He is not sure whether this is Dionysus’ influence, or if Theseus is this naturally talented, but he is not complaining. Far from it, in reality. Had he known the man would be this good, he would have agreed to do this much sooner.

The man starts a rhythm, Ares’ endowed girth sliding in and out of his— dare he say _divine_ \- mouth. It is only when Theseus goes a little too far that he gags, throat convulsing around him. It feels heavenly, Theseus choking on Ares. He invades him like a city-town, unforgiving and rough. He relishes the feel of muscles contracting and spasming around him. Dionysus is quick to pull Theseus back, however, uprighting him so the king can catch his breath.

“Someone’s a little eager, eh?” He remarks in half pity, half gaiety.

He snakes his arms around Theseus’ torso, up his chest and finds that the man’s nipples are budding, hard as pebbles when Dionysus rolls them between his forefinger and thumb. Ares crawls over the bed to sandwich the king between the god of wine and himself. He bats Dionysus’ hand away from Theseus’ right nipple, surging towards it to take it between his teeth. Theseus wails his delight, eyes squeezing shut in revelry.

“Aah, lord Ares,” Theseus murmurs as Ares abuses his chest. He adds, “Lord Dionysus.”

“The sounds you make, King Theseus. They are so sweet, don’t you think, Ares?” Dionysus comments, just brushing over the king’s neglected cock, his touch feather light. He looks at Ares half-lidded, clearly enjoying himself. But as much as he is, he still wants more. Always more. “Why don’t we change things up a bit?”

Ares unlatches himself from Theseus, admiring his work. Dionysus gives him a point of his chin, directing him where he wants them to go. It is so nonverbal yet precise that Ares finds himself appreciating his kin’s gesture, obeying instructions like a good Myrmidon would a commander.

“On all fours now, Theseus,” Dionysus supports Theseus’ bust as he lies him down into position. He presses on the small of the man’s back so Theseus’ hips jut out in a provocative manner. Theseus flushes brighter in the face; the war god can practically feel the “Ares, would you be a gentleman and bind our king’s wrists? I know you can be creative.”

And get creative, Ares will. His nostrils flare at the statement, hundreds of ideas coming to him at once. He is grateful that he can manifest any one of his prized weapons back on Olympus, and opts for one of his specialized ones.

Ares enjoys the weight of the chain whip that materializes in his hands, and tries it by snapping it in the air. A loud crack reverberates through the chamber, sending an excited shiver through the god, though he will not be slashing anyone today. He trails the end along Theseus’ spine, noting how his gleaming skin turns to gooseflesh from the metal chain whip’s caress. He drags it down the side of Theseus’ face, prodding the thick handle at the man’s cheek just to watch him squirm. Ares smiles when he looks down. All this foreplay is paying off; Theseus’ cock hangs heavy betwixt his spread legs.

“I hope you don’t plan on making a mess of him with that,” Dionysus says, but he is highly intrigued.

“Yes, I sure hope you don’t make a mess of me like that,” Theseus quips for good measure.

Without warning, Ares is pulling him up by the hair, pressing his face so close to Theseus that he can feel his panicked breaths ghost over his cheeks. Ares bares his teeth at the king before smashing his lips to Theseus’.

The delightful, coppery flavor of blood tinges their ruthless kiss, fueling that flame that burns within Ares. Ares claims the man’s mouth like he is raiding enemy territory, tongue slashing a path to suck at Theseus’ own. Their teeth clink together, drawing a moan from Theseus’ vocals, and Ares echoes it with his own. It is only when Theseus starts to go slack in his hold that the god lets up, and moves to wrap that wrathful chain whip around both of his wrists. The metal bites into his skin beautifully, Ares thinks. So gorgeous is this man that Ares is willing to turn a deaf ear to all the boastful claims that Theseus tends to emit.

Theseus shouts abruptly when Dionysus brings a flat palm down on his ass, the hit of skin on skin so shocking for both Theseus and Ares that they both look over at the god of wine, as keen as trained canines.

“Styx, man, if you could see your faces,” Dionysus laughs, petting Theseus’ ass to soothe away the temporary pain he inflicted. He spanks Theseus again, and a shudder goes through Ares as his inner power soaks in the way Theseus jolts and yells. “But I figured that you wouldn’t mind too much, either way.”

“My kin,” Ares snarls in warning. He is so hard, he is beginning to hurt, and he loves it.

“Yes, yes,” Dionysus rolls his violet eyes at him. Then he is asking Theseus in a honeyed voice, “My king, is there some place you keep your bath oils? I would like to feel you sooner than later.”

“Feel me…” Theseus’ voice trails like he is just now realizing what Dionysus is proposing. Ares notices how Theseus’ throat bobs as he swallows thickly. “Y-yes, the oils should be in the drawer.” He forgets that his arms are bound in front of him, but Ares finds the drawer next to the bed with little problem.

“Here.” Locating the bottle, he tosses it to Dionysus, who fumbles but catches it nonetheless.

Theseus pulls at his restraints when Dionysus pops the cork from the bottle and drizzles a healthy amount of oil over the king’s lower half. “Oh, it freezes me to the core,” he complains, but wiggles his ass in contradiction.

“Then we will just have to warm you up.” 

Dionysus goes along with him, slicking his hand in the viscous liquid. Ares blinks at him. Surely, he is not planning to do _that_ to the man, is he?

“Get your mouth back on Ares’ cock, would you, king?” Dionysus smirks when Theseus does as told, honing in on Ares like a well-aimed arrow.

Ares hisses as the man engulfs him once more. The god keeps his sight on Dionysus though, for his kin is prodding a fingertip at Theseus’ entrance. Theseus mewls then, his hums vibrating around Ares’ girth in the most pleasurable of ways. Ares huffs and thrusts into Theseus’ wet heat called mouth, earning a delightful gurgle like last time. He does not stop now, though. Theseus is a quick learner and controls his breathing as best as he can, allowing Ares to surge forward and claim him orally.

Dionysus’ second finger slides in beside the first one, and Theseus arches his body, a strong vein beginning to present itself along his temple as he strains to keep himself in check. Dionysus sinks down until his face is lined up with the man’s ass. He mutters words of encouragement, pressing butterfly kisses along those shapely globes. It is a positively erotic sight, even at the obscured angle Ares is watching from.

A third, and Theseus pops off Ares’ cock to howl when Dionysus angles his fingers and jabs a beat into him. Dionysus sucks at his sac, rolling each ball as he spears Theseus’ prostate with ease.

“Oh, by the heavens!” Theseus claws at the chains holding his forearms. His brow stitches together, a sheen of sweat starting from his forehead to the tips of his toes.

“Shh, there we go.” Dionysus lathes his tongue over the rim of Theseus’ hole then, or Ares assumes he does, because the king goes taut, then slack in an instant. “You can take two more for me, can’t you, man?”

Theseus can barely nod, but he does so still, slurring out a “yes, lord” as Dionysus fits another finger inside him. He seems to have forgotten all about servicing Ares, and Ares takes the initiative to nudge Theseus’ cheek with his blunt cock, to no avail. The man doubles over, profusely spitting curses to no one in particular.

“That’s it. Good.” Dionysus coos, “You’re being so good for me, Theseus. Just gotta get my thumb in there.”

“Your… your thumb..?” Theseus pants, his weight resting on his elbows.

Just how wide is Theseus being stretched? This even strikes curiosity in Ares, and he drops the chain whip to join Dionysus on the other side of the bed. What he discovers is far from disappointing.

Dionysus has Theseus filled to the brim. No, more than that. Theseus cries like he is wounded, but he is far from. Dionysus beckons for the oil again, and Ares complies, pouring more over the god’s knuckles. Then, Dionysus is pushing his last digit inside.

It is an incredibly tight fit, and Ares can hear how hard Theseus is clenching his jaw. He grasps the man’s length and jerks him swiftly and efficiently, all while coaxing him to relax.

Theseus gives a gnarled snort, but forces himself to loosen up. He pushes out, the rim of his hole pink and puffy and enticing. Ares is salivating at it. Dionysus already had a turn at Theseus’ entrance, didn’t he? So why not him, too?

He brings his face in close, tasting for the first time. Next to him, he can hear Dionysus chortling something raucous, but he could care less, especially when Theseus is the one falling head-first into the sheets, his arms no longer able to keep him up. He tilts up into Ares’ ministrations due to the angle, turning his head so he does not suffocate himself in the bed sheets. Ares feels each ridge and sinew of muscle with his tongue, chin bumping Dionysus’ lubricated wrist as the god of wine begins to move his hand.

It is excruciatingly slow at first, the pace at which he fucks Theseus with his hand, but Ares relishes every sigh and pained whimper that crows from Theseus’ being. Centimeter by centimeter, Dionysus thrusts his hand deeper into him. The king gasps at every knuckle that glides into him, protracting him wide. Ares tongues at his kin’s skin, where it connects with Theseus’ ass, and grips himself at the base from the sheer eroticism of it all.

In and out, in and out, Ares finds himself mesmerized at the feel of Theseus’ rim tensing and loosening, at how much he can go without breaking completely. Soon enough, Dionysus has got his whole hand sheathed inside Theseus, extracting moan after moan from the man. A scream shreds Theseus’ voice when the tendons in Dionysus’ wrist flex, forming a fist, and all too instantaneously does the king spray his thick seed across the surface of his bed.

Theseus quivers from head to toe, his entrance twitching furiously from the onset of his orgasm. Dionysus whistles a little, pulling Ares back by the jaw so he can peck him on spit-slick lips. Slowly, Dionysus eases his hand out of Theseus, who collapses in his own spend not a moment later. His hole is agape, puffy from use and bright in hue. He looks like a perfect mess.

But it is not over for Theseus yet. Dionysus gives Ares’ member a perfunctory once over with a shallow, oiled grip and asks, “Care to shag him, man? I could go for his cock right about now.”

Envisioning Dionysus bouncing on Theseus’ cock makes Ares nod almost enthusiastically, like it is some ingenious ambush plan that the god of wine has conjured up. He assists Dionysus in flipping Theseus to his back, hiking up his knees and linking them around his waist while Dionysus pats the man’s cheek, as if to wake him from a slumber.

“Hanging in there?” He straddles Theseus now, glorious thighs on either side of his waist. Ares restrains himself from salivating at the sight; of Dionysus’ comely ass on display for him. And oh, how he desires to come soon.

Theseus grumbles something incoherent to Ares’ ears, but Dionysus seems to be capable of understanding whatever was said because he plants kisses over Theseus’ closed eyes and rubs Theseus’ dick along the crease of his ass, which is quickly rebounding to full hardness. Theseus grizzles out something along the lines of “more, please”, but Ares stops him from lifting his hips.

“Wait for Ares, mighty king,” Dionysus says, and oh, he must be taunting Ares with that lilt. He casts a sultry gaze over his shoulder at Ares then, a serrating glare that urges him to make haste.

Lining up with Theseus’ hole, Ares does not feign patience and care, rather entering the man with impatience. The fit is still tight, even though Dionysus had screwed his fist within him earlier. Theseus is velvety and warm around Ares’ cock, and if Ares was not a god, he guesses any mortal would have finished right then and there. He pauses for a second, letting himself adjust rather than caring for Theseus’ comfort.

“So big,” Theseus chews the words, but Ares comprehends them just fine. “Lord Ares, you are enormous.”

“Now, now, don’t let that get to his head,” Dionysus smiles down at Theseus, whose eyes are unfocused; in a daze. He turns his head to Ares, “Wait for me, and we will show him how gods like to fuck.”

Ares swallows shallowly. He can do nothing but nod in return, fixating on where Dionysus is bringing Theseus’ ardent cock to his puckered entrance. He does not even feel the shame as his moan echoes both Dionysus’ and Theseus’ when the god of wine seats himself upon the king, as if he too can feel Dionysus sinking down onto him.

Theseus bears down on Ares’ member as his own is taken by Dionysus, urging the god to break out of his stupor. Ares pulls out, then buries himself deep with no hesitation.

Theseus’ sphincter is like a siphon, so thirsty and wanting that Ares feels like he is being eaten alive. The man makes a strangled noise when Dionysus reflects the motion, lifting up before plunging back down in tandem with Ares’ thrusts.

Together, they ride each sensation that Theseus provides them. Theseus is either on the verge of melting, or has already melted, Ares figures; the king hollers wantonly as he simultaneously gives and gets. The air around them is thickening, Dionysus keeping them suspended in a haze of amethyst. Ares drives into Theseus faster, his loins burning in the most pleasurably from exertion.

Dionysus spears himself on Theseus, hands finding leverage on the man’s pectorals. He messages them in small circles in time to the rotation of his hips, keening when Ares’ plunge inward jolts Theseus up into him like a ricochet. His grapevine-like curls are beginning to unravel from the lazy half-braid, bouncing along his scapulae. They frame Dionysus like a purplish halo, wild and perfect. 

“Hrgh! Dionysus!” Theseus sounds inebriated from both gods’ attention. “Ares!” He shrieks when Ares finally hits _that_ place inside him.

Ares hooks his chin over Dionysus’ shoulder, filling his lungs with his kin’s scent of wine and feasts, and ruts into Theseus with abandon. He claws at the tight flesh of Theseus’ calves, bloodlust being fed when the man bleeds. Dionysus undulates against him, eggs him on, tells him he is doing so well; that Theseus is doing well, too. 

Ares wants more. He wants more of those praises, needs to split Theseus open like it is the next best thing to carnage. He leaves room for nothing in his mind now, craving for his own fulfillment, riding ever closer to the double-sided edge of completion. He does not even care if he is the one coming first.

Ares’ orgasm hits him right between the eyes, sucker punching his core like the Twin Fists of Malphon. It is a critical hit, he would surmise, if he were to surmise at all. He cannot think of anything as he spills into Theseus’ hole, coating his insides sloppily with his pearlescent cum. His mind is in flames. Ares comes and comes, ululating uninhibitedly, surrendering to the rapture that twists through him like the chained whip that restrains Theseus. He comes so much that Ares feels like he is about to go crazy, milking himself dry with a few more erratic stabs of his cock.

Ares’ chest is heaving as he pulls out, leaving with him a sticky trail of spunk from Theseus’ abused ass. Any more, and it might be likely that he would have grown hard again, but he would rather spectate the debauched magnificence that is Dionysus throwing himself down on Theseus’ length. He shuffles over to bring Theseus’ arms above his head, whip in his hold as he girds the chain tighter.

Dionysus writhes, rotating his pelvis in a sort of figure eight that has Theseus struggling for breath. The god’s eyelids flicker as he locates his own prostate, propelling himself downwards to strike it again.

“You digging it, man?” Whether he is talking to Theseus or Ares, or the both of them, Ares assumes that it does not matter. Dionysus’ eyes roll back when Theseus musters up his strength to thrust up, babbling breathlessly, “Ohhh, yeah, like that. Right there, right _there_.”

Theseus gnashes his teeth together, planting the soles of his feet on the bed to better cant his hips. He is beet red, emotions so intense and clear that Ares even feels affected by them. With his might, Theseus pounds Dionysus from below, going hard, harder, until the slap of skin against skin is nearly enough to drown out their moans.

Then, all too soon, Dionysus shakes his head, jaw flexing, and comes untouched with a silent cry. 

He sprays like a fountain over the expanse of Theseus’ front, freezing like a statue as ecstasy overtakes him. Theseus bucks a few times more before he, too, is toppling over into elation.

No one makes a sound for what seems like an eternity. Dionysus falls in a heap onto Theseus’ chest, sucking in oxygen like he needs to. Theseus is no better, going entirely limp from the power of his orgasm. They lie there until Ares releases Theseus from the chains and nudges at him until he sits up, Dionysus in tow.

“That was nice,” Dionysus garbles happily. He pets Ares’ cheek, and kisses him softly. He does the same with Theseus, groaning as Theseus’ softening cock slips out of him. “You were so good, dealing it like a champ. We enjoyed you so much.”

“I am truly honored, lord Dionysus,” Theseus rasps, voice shot and weak, but it is nothing some hours’ sleep cannot fix, supposes Ares. “Lord Ares…”

Theseus turns his head so he can kiss Ares chastely, and Ares allows him to as he comes down from his high.

Dionysus wobbles as he climbs off Theseus’ lap and stands next to the bed. He gestures at Ares; it is time to get going. He can feel Theseus’ conscious fading, rushing towards sleep and dreams.

Ares tries not to stare at the rivulets of cum dribbling down his thighs, and gets ready to depart. They dress again quietly. He is about to say something, anything to break the silence, but Dionysus winks at him, putting a nail to his lips as he points at Theseus. “Let him rest.”

“Oh,” Ares whispers. Theseus snoozes peacefully, sprawled on his pallet without a care in the world.

Dionysus’ irises shine in the early dawn when Ares finally looks at him. “Shall we go then?” he asks. “Unless you want us to leave in separate ways. That’s fine for me, too, man.”

Deep down, Ares knows he should not be as tender as he is right now, but he cannot deny the invitation Dionysus has dangled in front of him. He glances at Theseus one more time before interlocking his fingers with his kin’s.

Dionysus grins at him as he summons them back to Olympus. Ares steals one more look at Theseus, part of him hoping that he and Dionysus would be called on once again.

“Don’t worry, Ares,” his kin says. “This won’t be the last time we see our little champion.”

**Author's Note:**

> Am I going to Tartarus after this one?
> 
> Find me and my asinine musings on twit: @ra9ical


End file.
